


Tessellate (Til Morning Comes)

by pansypxrkinson



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Study-ish, F/F, Ft extremely long sentences ahh, Girls Kissing, Implied Sexual Content, Luurve and realisations, Smut-ish, Valentine's day fluffiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 18:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13686897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pansypxrkinson/pseuds/pansypxrkinson
Summary: The truth was Pansy Parkinson had something. Something which Hermione Granger wanted very much indeed.





	Tessellate (Til Morning Comes)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day! <3
> 
> Here's a little pansmione ficlet I wrote in celebration, because everyone needs a little more pansmione in their life! Enjoy!
> 
> PP x 
> 
> P.S. the title is from alt-j's tessellate, if you were curious.

Hermione can feel it ever so softly. The caress of Pansy's silk camisole that slips down one shoulder. It lulls against her pale skin, her sharp collarbone bare and casting shadows in the moonlight. The material is expensive and soft in a ghastly shade of green. It hangs there in limbo. It is a question.

She's not even sure why she's here to be honest. Not even sure how it's happening.

Pansy's skin is hot, where it pimples into goosebumps under her touch. She's searching blindly in the dark. Searching once again for that moment of ecstacy when she'd felt it. A simple brush of lips. Her breath drawn and desperate against her, and trying not wheeze embarrassingly from the shock of it. Maybe it had been an accident? She wasn't sure; still grasping that same damned silk between her fingers. 

She's trembling and it's so smooth that she can't gain a proper grip and she fumbles dreadfully. Just holding her, as if Pansy were to run away and leave her in the cold silence of the Slytherin dormitories; the ghost of her lips on hers, legs quaking, the stolen invisibility cloak pooled, misty and forgotten on the floor. 

She'd intended to... Well. She's not entirely sure what she had intended to do, but it certainly hadn't been this. The truth was Pansy Parkinson had something. Something which Hermione Granger wanted very much indeed. It angered her irrationally, how she should always look so put together. Her nails so neatly painted, hair so perfectly parted and bobbed.  
What did Hermione have? Nails bitten to the quick and hair messier than her own cat's. She could admit she was jealous. But it was rather becoming an issue, especially now that they shared lessons together and she'd found that she just couldn't concentrate properly. Her eyes always searching her out. Considering her.  
It had been so strange, because she had never really cared about that stuff before. Perhaps she was just a late developer, or maybe it was a phase? 

She just wanted to look at her. Or better still to finally discover that Parkinson was not as gorgeous as she seemed to be. It was almost insulting to Hermione that someone so horrible could be so stunning; and yet Hermione knew she wasn't traditionally beautiful, or even pretty. But she had something. This something had licked at the pit of her stomach, like flames, ever since Hermione had returned to Hogwarts.

You see, Pansy Parkinson was charcoal. The kind that rubs all over your fingers. A nuisance and yet so damn hard to get rid of. She was smoke in a black room, undetectable and yet she stole Hermione's attention daily. 

Her lips were a sort of cherry red, the sort that couldn't be natural, and they smudged around the edges, grimly, like her teeth had just broken into fresh fruit. She always accompanied them with dark circles that Pansy wore like twin smokey eyes, and she always wore velvet and green. Hermione knew that for a fact. 

Many a time, she had followed Harry's eyes to where Pansy sat in Defence, tapping her quill lazily. She'd followed them all the way down to the tips of her black combat boots, and up once again to the black fishnets that stuck out so plainly against her green skirt. She'd watched Harry shake himself and then turn back to Ron. He hadn't looked back after that. 

It had been fine, really. Hermione was smart enough to realise that attraction cannot easily be controlled. But then why. Why could she not do the same. Why was she so obsessed? It had to be envy. It just had to be.

Hermione thought that the most shameful thing about all of this was how utterly her body was betraying her. How confused she'd become at her own actions. She's usually been able to understand herself pretty well. 

The next day, she'd decided to walk down to the Courtyard to clear her head. This had been the worst idea of all. 

Hermione had tried and tried to quell the sinking feeling in her chest at the sight of Malfoy's pale head resting in Pansy's lap. Had tried to quell a very different emotion altogether at the lighter that she held aloft, and the blue flame that steadily floated upwards from it to meet her open mouth.  
It danced over her tongue in a way that was much too salacious for broad daylight. So much so, that when Pansy's eyes glanced over at her, Hermione almost bit a hole through her lip to distract herself. Pain was control. She would not embarrass herself.

It was an old party trick. Nothing she should concern herself with. After all, Hermione doesn't do risque things like that, or associate with people who do. She would simply ignore it.

It had almost worked. Until Pansy's eyes travelled downwards to Hermione's mouth. Her lip quirked then, as if she had discovered something curious. 

She was no longer open mouthed and the flames turned pink, and perhaps she'd lost control a little, because Hermione thought she saw her twitch slightly; her lip redder than usual and shiny with something that looked a little like blood not long afterwards.

Hermione made her exit then.

She had wrapped her warm cloak around herself more tightly, and walked steadily on, ignoring the eyes that followed her as she walked away. 

After that she had told herself that it would be enough, if she was indeed jealous, once she discovered that Pansy was human like the rest of them. Then she could stop obssessing over her so bloody much. Part of her knew the lie for what it was, but the alternative was too much to think on. 

Considering her current position, it hadn't worked; and if Hermione had stopped to think about it in greater detail perhaps she could have accepted that. She knew she grew a massive blindspot to logical thought when she was emotionally compromised.

Now, Hermione thought she was as emotionally compromised as she'd ever been with her hands roaming Pansy Parkinson's nightclothes and her breathing rapid and bold. There was no explanation in which her actions here could be considered dignified.  

She couldn't explain how that had happened either, but she thinks she may have forgotten about the cloak around her feet and toppled onto Pansy as she lay asleep in her dormitory. Yes. That's the explanation she prefers. The only explanation she can think about now, because even now she's not sure how she got here, or what she thought she was doing. But explanations are rapidly leaving her, because Pansy's hands are tangled up in her hair, and a part of her is cringing because she knew she should've brushed it before bed, but the other baser part tells her to shut up because she thinks too much all the time, and now she just wants to feel. 

So she dives forward into her. Something breaks. It's like slicing through a wave, and diving upwards to feel the hot air, desperate oxygen travelling through her; because she was so uncertain and so confused about what and who she wanted. It was so blurred in front of her, she just couldn't see and she'd even thought about uncovering the Mirror of Erised just to find out for sure why she'd been doodling flowers and half moons with her quill when she should have been concentrating on her Charms essay.

Now she's shivering out of delight at being right about this, this feeling she's had for so long; that something wasn't quite right, but the glory comes from giving in, because she thought she'd be terrified and instead she's so whole, so alive.  
It's freezing cold in here, and this space under the covers is so warm. She stops kissing her now. Catching her breath as she stretches her arms up in the air and shivers once more when Pansy's fingers curl around her own in a tight grip. Partly because she knows now, can feel the passion and lust that grips the room, and she's almost shocked that half of the dorm isn't awake, it feels so real, so tangible in the air now; but partly because this is so new and they're leaning on each other for guidance.

Now they're kissing again. Pansy's split lip is bleeding into hers and the rush is so sweet. Somehow more intimate for it, because it's bitter and a touch back down to earth from the million pieces of the universe she's tasting that show her that this, this feeling, her love, is all she's ever wanted. She's wondering why Pansy hasn't healed the cut, and yet it's all the more wonderful because perhaps she wanted to remember Hermione. Perhaps she can taste her when she runs her tongue over the bump, because pain is control but it is also memory. 

She surprises herself that she knows her so well. It doesn't feel awkward, and it doesn't feel bland. Instead it's all second nature from when she had stared and stared at her from across the classroom; and Hermione learns that perhaps all education is useful, even if the only thing she's learning is the precise bump and fold of her lips so that she knows how to work her tongue and create a shorter space between them. 

She raises a leg and they move together once again. She makes the decision. Answers the question, and grabs the loose silk shoulder strap and pulls it down and away. Hermione pulls off her own tshirt then and she traces the bump of Pansy's spine; the rise and fall of her chest against her lips.

It's dark and she wishes she could see better. She can just make out the contrast of her milky skin against her own dark complexion. Can see their hands squeezed together tightly, fingers numbing from the joy and passion but also the sheer terror of it all, and it's the most brilliant sight she's ever seen.  
She can feel Pansy now, biting at her neck, whispering things into the arch of it, mumbling thoughts aloud like even Hermione herself isn't privy to them. She doesn't try too hard to listen. She thinks it might undo her completely, and she's still trying not to rush this. 

When they fit together. Shapes moving, tessellating, geometry in the darkness, it is the most glorious thing she's even felt. She's so drunk on the feeling that she's not sure if Pansy's actually glowing or if it just seems that way to her. She thinks it's still dark outside but she also couldn't care less if it wasn't. A possessive gnawing begins in her stomach and it makes her lower her head to nip at Pansy's cheek. Let them see. Let them know what they are doing. She's fearless right now. As determined and certain as she's ever been about anything she cares about. They stay like that, alive and in love with the feeling until the sun begins to shine through the water outside. Then they fall asleep together.

Hermione wakes slowly to pale arms wrapped around her. Thankfully, the curtains are closed tightly, but the sun still squeaks through in strange shapes, rectangles and half moons of light. 

She's a little scared, and a little sad; because things had been so brilliant, and the light brings clarity and explanations, and many things that she'd rather ignore at the moment. Like why Harry will wake up and realise his invisibility cloak is missing, and just where she'd taken it last night half deluded from sleep, with a head full of dreams. Her name and Pansy's ingraved into the parchment of the Marauder's Map. As plain and simple as the water that runs past the windows. Hermione doesn't even feel surprised at how right it feels.

Pansy's red and bitten lips are closed now as she snores quietly. It's sickeningly endearing and Hermione takes a thumb and wets it, lightly rubbing away the dried blood upon her lip. She's still pale as death, and Hermione thinks she definitely needs some sun. Maybe they could have lunch by the lake together?Maybe they could talk?

She's not sure what this is exactly, but she's hopeful in the way they had connected last night; wordlessly, and somehow known every breath of intention. It's the first time she'll admit she was wrong about something but perhaps Pansy's not as cruel and cold as she thinks, or at least it is difficult to think so, cradled in her grip and content in the morning sunshine.

Eventually, Pansy will wake with a kiss to Hermione's shoulder. They will talk in hushed whispers, and arrange to meet later. Hermione will dress in her yellow tshirt and shorts once more and sneak away to Gryffindor Tower with the cloak. She will sheepishly explain (in extremely vague detail) the events of the previous night to a curious Harry and Ron.

She will laugh at their shocked faces because she knows they secretly admire her honesty, and she will admire it herself as she settles down for breakfast, feeling stronger and more certain than she has in years.

For now though, she simply settles back down against Pansy, and breathes in her perfume against the pillow. It's the best scent she's ever smelt. 

Her words can wait.


End file.
